


Nothing Beside Remains

by airspaniel



Category: Watchmen (Comic)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted December 2008.</p><p>Original AN: Written for Ayien, because she wanted to know more about Adrian Veidt, and what might happen after Rorschach's diary was printed.  This isn't the story I set out to write, but it's the story that clamored the most to be written.  I hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Nothing Beside Remains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ayien](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ayien).



> Originally posted December 2008.
> 
> Original AN: Written for Ayien, because she wanted to know more about Adrian Veidt, and what might happen after Rorschach's diary was printed. This isn't the story I set out to write, but it's the story that clamored the most to be written. I hope you like it!

 

 

It isn't guilt, that niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ridiculous to feel guilty when he was right, after all.  
  
 _"I did the right thing, didn't I? It all worked out in the end."_  
  
Neither is it fear, although he will admit to being a little apprehensive about the impending re-release of his line of action figures, freshly redesigned and fully articulated to appeal to the adult collector and children alike.  
  
It bothers him, especially given the way things ended with Dan and Rorschach. And Jon.  
  
 _"Nothing ends, Adrian."_  
  
But now more than ever, consumers want to be comforted by normalcy, to shower their families in love and affection; and there's no better or more American way to achieve this than the buying of material goods. The toys will be a complete success.  
  
Millennium is selling well, no worries there, and even with his generous donations to charity, his profit margin is wide and healthy.  
  
No reason for fear, then.  
  
Grief is closer, but far too general. Everyone is grieving; the _world_ is grieving. If anything, he feels it less acutely, for he had years to come to terms with the horror. The loss. He grieved before the creature was made, shed his metaphorical tears long before pen was ever set to paper.  
  
It makes no sense for him to grieve, now that everything is over.  
  
 _"Nothing ever ends."_  
  
Adrian swallows hard. Perhaps he simply misses his cat.  
  
"Well, we all must make sacrifices," he says to his reflection, smiling the million dollar smile the world believes in.  
  
He nearly believes it himself.  
  
\-----  
  
 _(Excerpts taken from a transcript of_ The Benny Anger Show _, airdate: 12/02/85)_  
  
 _Benny: Thank you for joining us this evening, Mr. Veidt._  
  
 _Adrian: My pleasure, Benny, my pleasure. And please, call me Adrian._  
  
 _Benny: All right, Adrian. We appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to talk with us. I know you've been spending a lot of time and money on the recovery effort here in New York City._  
  
 _Adrian: Yes, I've been overseeing several operations as well as volunteering at the site itself, clearing the way to rebuild this city even stronger than it was before. We must all do everything we can to help each other now._  
  
\-----  
  
It is hideous still, a month after, the concrete stained and buckled. Gaping holes where once great buildings stood - the Post Office, Madison Square Garden, landmarks pulled down into dust rather than repaired. Far easier to destroy them than it would be to scrub the blood and death from their stones.  
  
And even if they were washed clean, bleached, newer looking than when they were new... those who walked by would still see the stains.  
  
Instead there will be a monument there, once politicians and planners can agree on its design and construction. It will be an inspiration, a testament to the indomitable spirit of humanity and to its resilience; its dedication and determination. It will stand in defiance, proclaiming to the heavens "We are here and you will not move us! You cannot destroy us!"  
  
It will also be a solemn memorial for the dead, the dying; the tortured souls who still scream in their sleep and have forgotten how it feels to be at peace. The monument will honor them, mourning their loss with tears of steel and gold. Its solid stillness will lend them stability once again.  
  
So far, the winning bid for its construction belongs to Veidt Enterprises.  
  
There are already opponents to the monument, who claim that it is a frivolous expense. That the millions of dollars poured into commemorating this tragedy would be much better spent on the victims themselves, their families, helping to restore their lives. They don't understand what good it will do. Why they _need_ it.  
  
Adrian understands. How else will they remember?  
  
\-----  
  
 _Benny: I'm sure you've heard by now about the alleged "Rorschach Diary" that was recently printed by the_ New Frontiersman  
  
 _Adrian: I have indeed. Pretty entertaining little work of fiction, isn't it?_  
  
 _Benny: Is it? What makes you say that?_  
  
 _Adrian: Benny, I knew Rorschach, a long time ago. He's never struck me as the kind of man who would keep a diary. Much more a man of admittedly questionable action, rather than words._  
  
 _Benny: Fair enough. But there are some pretty interesting allegations in there, fiction or no. Things that, now that I have you here, I think deserve some further investigation._  
  
 _Adrian: (laughs) Let me guess... You want to know if I'm homosexual?_  
  
 _Benny: Uh, well..._  
  
 _Adrian: I'm sorry to ruin your scandal, but I'm not. Not that there's anything wrong with it. Nor is there anything wrong with a healthy appreciation of the male form. The human body is a work of art, regardless of sex._  
  
 _Benny: Yes, well... (coughs) As compelling as that is, and I'm sure our viewers are compelled right now... I actually had something else in mind._  
  
 _Adrian: I see. What do you want to know?_  
  
\-----  
  
Adrian hangs from the bar for a long moment, feeling his arms stretch up and away, his spine elongate.  
  
He breathes out, then kips up to a handstand.  
  
Simple giants at first, feeling the rotation, the rhythm of the movement. He turns on his right arm, releases the bar with his left hand and pivots into an inverse grip. One, two, three swings and he lets go at the apex; pirouetting upside down in midair before grasping the bar again, circling it as relaxed and easy as when he started.  
  
Another release, and his legs hit a neat split as he flies up and back over the bar. He reaches out to catch it, hands outstretched...  
  
And he misses.  
  
He hits the mat with a dull thud that echoes through his cavernous gymnasium. It hurts, and his breath is gone, and he thinks that finally, horribly, he may be getting too old for this.  
  
He lies there for a while, feeling the breath stutter back into his body. The blue vinyl smells like sweat and plastic, but he still presses his face to the mat, presses his eyes shut; collects himself.  
  
Adrian stands up and exhales, and even that small noise echoes.  
  
He takes the bar again, kips up to a handstand...  
  
\-----  
  
 _Benny: Rorschach, well, the writer... The writer claims that he and someone named Dreiberg, which we now know refers to Nite Owl, believed you to be behind an elaborate conspiracy, and intended to fly to Antarctica to confront you directly. That's pretty serious opposition from two men you once considered colleagues. What was that all about?_  
  
 _Adrian: I have no idea. You'd have to ask the author._  
  
 _Benny: So they didn't storm into your not-so-secret lair to do battle with you?_  
  
 _Adrian: (laughs) Not in the slightest. I haven't seen Nite Owl in nearly eight years, since just before the Keene Act passed. Though I did hear a rumor that he'd gotten back into the business. Saved a lot of people from a tenement fire, I believe._  
  
 _Benny: And Rorschach?_  
  
 _Adrian: For the last ten years, the only times I've seen Rorschach have been on the nightly news. And even that's too often for my tastes. He and I have never seen eye-to-eye about anything._  
  
 _Benny: And the conspiracy?_  
  
 _Adrian: You know, I'd love to meet whoever is writing this and find out for myself! Maybe give them an inside edge on the characters, in case there's ever a sequel. I have ins with several different publishing companies, if they're interested._  
  
 _Benny: (laughs) Now there's an opportunity! I hope they're watching this right now._  
  
\-----  
  
Adrian can say anything. His word is inviolable truth. The only people who would contradict him are dead.  
  
It is an incredibly liberating feeling.  
  
Even if he _tried_ to tell the truth, who would believe it? That one man, even the smartest man in the world, could orchestrate such an elaborate terror; could construct such a vast and precise pyramid of death and creation, of graphs and figures and fear. _Alien invasion_ is far more probable than the reality of the situation, and Adrian finds that immensely flattering somehow.  
  
He had, in his empire, the best and the brightest minds and talents, all working to bring about change; to destroy the few so the many could rise and unify. And they didn't even know they were doing it. Would never even _guess_.  
  
And now, only Adrian Veidt remains. Alone.  
  
He thinks about Dan and Laurie, sometimes. Wonders how they're getting along, wherever they are; whoever they are now.  
  
They know. Maybe not the full extent of his genius, how far-reaching and forward thinking and breathtakingly brilliant his victory, but they know more than anyone living. They remember him. They will never be able to _forget_.  
  
And that's all anyone wants, isn't it? To be remembered.  
  
So Adrian Veidt sits at his televisions, observes the sorrow and pain he has caused; the destruction, but also the hope he is responsible for.  
  
It's enough. It will be enough, in the end. 

 


End file.
